Babysitting is Harder than it Looks
by Skye Summers
Summary: When Booth finds himself unable to watch Parker while Rebecca's on vacation, Sweets offers to babysit. Very fluffy; it's going to be mostly Parker being an adorable nuisance and bonding with Sweets.
1. You've Got a Deal

"Why don't you just ask Rebecca to watch him?" Sweets heard Brennan pose the question as he entered his office.

"Because, Bones," Booth replied, aggravated. "She's only letting me watch him because Captain Fantastic wants to take her to an adults-only resort in Maui."

As Sweets closed the door behind him, Brennan noticed him. "Hello, Doctor Sweets," she greeted him stiffly.

"Doctor Brennan," he smiled. "Agent Booth. Good to see you."

"That's nice," Booth said absently, apparently just reacting to his name. He turned to Brennan. "Any more ideas?"

"About what?" Sweets asked.

Booth sighed; as always, it was obvious that he didn't want to be there. "Starting tomorrow, Rebecca wants me to watch Parker for a few weeks while Captain Fantastic takes her to Maui. But we just got a murder case in Florida, so Bones and I are going to have to go down there. Obviously I can't be in two places at once, so either I leave Parker at home by himself or skip this case."

"Who's Captain Fantastic?" he wondered.

"Her boyfriend. He's a captain in the Coast Guard."

"Seems like she's asking you to do this on pretty short notice. Can't you just say no?"

"No – I told her I'd do this about a month ago. It's the case – it just came up suddenly, and – I mean, I can't say no now. They bought tickets, made reservations... the whole shebang." Booth shook his head.

"Do you have any relatives or close friends in town who could watch him?" he suggested.

"Yeah, now that you mention it. Why didn't I just think of that before?" Booth quipped sarcastically.

"No need to be rude," Sweets said, hiding his indignation. "I was only trying to be helpful."

Brennan leaned forward slightly. "Does this count towards our time requirement? I want to leave as quickly as possible. We have a case."

"What? I – fine," Sweets shrugged, trying not to let his hurt show. As much as he hated to admit it, it stung when they told him – right to his face – that they wanted to get away from him. "I suppose that talking about personal issues affecting you is pertinent to the Bureau's attempt to analyze your partnership."

"Great. Any ideas?" Booth asked him. Judging by the bored look on his face, he didn't expect Sweets to say anything useful – he just wanted to kill time.

"Well..." he trailed off, thinking. Maybe if he came up with something helpful, he might get some respect. It was unlikely, of course, given the pair's previous behavior – but it was possible. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. "Parker's old enough to go to school, right?"

"Yeah," Booth replied, obviously wondering how that was relevant.

"How long does the school's aftercare program go on?" Most public schools had them; hopefully Parker's did too.

"I think Rebecca said eight," he informed him. "But it's not like they can watch him overnight. I don't see where you're going with this."

Eight – perfect. "Well, I usually get home around six," Sweets said. "I mean – I could watch him."

To his surprise, Booth started laughing. "Parker could babysit _you_," he shook his head. "No way I'm leaving my son with... I mean, what are you, fourteen?"

Sweets, not finding his jokes particularly funny, kept a straight face. "I'm serious, Agent Booth."

"So am I. No way." he shook his head.

"So you're leaving him home alone?"

"Of course not. That's ridiculous."

"You're abandoning the case?"

"No."

"How's that going to work out?"

Booth was silent for a few moments. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'll figure something out."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, okay?"

Brennan looked at her partner. "We've known Sweets for years, Booth," she pointed out. "He's always been very responsible, and, with the exception of his choice of mates, his judgment is exemplary."

"With the exception of my choice of mates?" he echoed, incredulous.

Booth, pained, looked at her. "Bones, you don't just say that to people."

"Why not?" she wondered. "It's true. Miss Wick is exceedingly aggravating, and –"

Her partner held up a hand to stop her. "It's not polite," he explained. "You just – you don't do that."

Sweets sighed. His suggestion had obviously been rejected; he might as well move on and start with the usual session talk.

* * *

><p>Sweets was snuggled up next to Daisy, kept comfortably warm by the duvet resting on top of them. Everything was dark and silent – the winter night was wonderful, its peace unbroken by howling winds. Unfortunately, it <em>was<em> broken by the persistent ringing of his cell phone.

Daisy moaned, pulling the quilt over her head. "Answer it, Lancelot," she whimpered. "It's so loud."

He fumbled blindly in the dark, trying to find his phone amidst the slight clutter on his nightstand; once he found it, he picked it up and hit the green button. "Hullo?" he mumbled, half-asleep.

"Sweets?" Booth's voice emanated from the phone.

In his stupor, it took a moment for the surprise to hit him. "You... want to talk to me? Voluntarily? I mean, that's... that's great, but... it's two in the morning."

"Sorry," he said, sounding more than a little insincere. At least he was trying to be polite. "I – I just needed to see if you could still watch Parker."

"What?" he blinked a few times, certain his drowsiness had made him hear the wrong words.

"Can you still watch Parker?" he repeated. "I – I know it's kind of last minute, but I couldn't find anyone else. I'd have called you sooner, but it took me a while to convince Rebecca to let you watch him."

"That... yeah, sure," he replied. "I... I can do it."

"Great," he said, sounding relieved. "She'll drop him off at school tomorrow, then bring a bag of his stuff and a list of instructions to your house around nine."

"Nine?" he repeated. "I can't... I have to be at work by nine at the latest. Usually I'm there by eight."

"Then she can drop it off at the FBI building," Booth decided.

"Great," he mumbled weakly. "I'll see her then."

"Thanks a lot, Sweets." Sweets was surprised to hear genuine gratitude in Booth's voice. Had he finally won him over?

"No problem."

"Sweets?"

"Yeah?"

"Parker is my son," he said, making the obvious statement sound much more threatening than it should. "If anything happens to him, I will personally hunt you down and shoot you. Do you understand?"

"Got it," he replied hurriedly.

"Good night," Booth said; Sweets heard a click, and the conversation was over.

As he put the phone back in its place, Daisy spoke up. "What was that about?"

He paused, trying to think of how to describe the situation. "We're having a kid."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry; this chapter isn't as good as the next ones will be. It's just setting up the situation. The next chapter will have a bit of this too, but I'm planning on stuffing a lot more Parker cuteness into that one. I think it'll turn out a lot better. :3<strong>

**Happy American Independence Day!**


	2. Could This Get Any Easier?

Sweets found that being woken up in the middle of the night had increased his typical antipathy towards alarm clocks tenfold; when the familiar _brrrring! _sound filled his room at six thirty, he reached out and knocked its source to the ground. The noise, much to his relief, stopped abruptly – the clock must have fallen on its snooze button. Unfortunately, he still had to get out of bed.

Yawning, he stumbled away from the warmth of his bed, towards his closet. As he surveyed his suits, he realized that Rebecca's judgment of him would probably be based – at least partially – on what he was wearing. The first part of his choice was easy; he put on his usual black suit and blue shirt. But the tie...

He picked up three ties and emerged from the closet. "Daisy?" he called.

"Yes, Lancelot?" she replied, chipper as ever. Unlike him, she was a morning person.

"Which one should I wear?"

She paused, then pointed at the red tie. "I like that one."

"Are you sure? I mean, red does evoke warm feelings of love and comfort, but it has some angry, violent connotations," he fretted. Although he'd never met Rebecca, Booth had described her as very protective of Parker. If he didn't give off the right impression, she might back out of the whole deal, and Booth would probably blame him.

Beaming, she walked over to him and placed her hands on his chest. "Oh, Lancelot," she shook her head. "You shouldn't worry so much. Just relax, okay?"

In spite of his nervousness, he smiled. "I'll do my best." Daisy returned the smile, and he kissed her forehead.

"So, will Parker be here when I come over tonight?" she asked, tugging lightly on his lapels.

He hesitated. "...About that."

"What is it, Lancelot?" she asked, worried. "You're not dumping me, are you?"

"Wha – no, no! Of course not." he hugged her in reassurance. "I just... I don't think that us having sleepovers all the time would be such a good idea while Parker's staying."

She frowned. "I guess you're right."

Noticing how disappointed she looked, he tried to cheer her up. "We'll still see each other at work," he pointed out. "And I still love you."

With a newly cheerful expression, she released him. "I love you too, Lancelot," she said.

* * *

><p>Although he always did his best to be nonjudgmental – after all, that was part of his job – Sweets couldn't help but think the sight before him was more than a bit strange. Amidst the sea of agents clad in dark suits, a blonde in white short-shorts, sandals and a bright pink Hawaiian shirt was pulling a bright yellow Batman duffel bag behind her as she made her way towards his office.<p>

His suspicion that the woman was Rebecca was confirmed when she swung open his door. "Are you Doctor Sweets?" she asked, sounding somewhat uncertain. That was odd – Booth had said she was very confident.

"Yes," he nodded, getting up and walking over to her. "I assume you're Rebecca?" he held out a hand and smiled.

She shook it tentatively. "I thought... I thought you'd be older." Ah. That explained her reluctance.

"How old did you think I was going to be?"

"Thirty or so." she shrugged. "All I knew was that you were old enough to be a psychologist and young enough not to have any kids of your own. Seeley didn't tell me much."

"You're, ah, eight years off," he attempted to smile confidently.

"You're only twenty-two? I – nevermind. If Seeley trusts you... he's always been a good judge of people."

"Oh, definitely," he agreed. "I've worked with him on quite a few cases – that's a real skill of his."

"Anyway," she said briskly, checking her watch. He assumed her flight was leaving fairly soon. "I told the aftercare attendant that you'd be picking up Parker. You might need to show ID the first time, so bring your driver's license... well, I guess you'd bring that anyway, since you need to drive to the school... and here's a list of instructions," she said, handing him a packet that looked to be about ten pages long. As silly as it sounded, it was actually a bit of a relief that the kid came with an instruction manual.

"Got it," he said. "I'll read through this."

She nodded, handing him the duffel bag. "This has his clothes, toothbrush – that sort of thing. But... he has a tendency to lose things and never find them again... if he misplaces something important, you can just buy him a new one, and I'll reimburse you as soon as I get back. There's not really a point in looking for it – once he loses something, it never turns up again," she laughed. "The boy has a gift."

He smiled at her. "No problem. I'll pick him up around seven thirty."

Nodding again, she returned his expression. "Thank you so much for doing this. I know it's very short notice."

"It's no problem," he reassured her. "Have a great time in Maui."

Grinning, she strode out of his office.

* * *

><p>Looking at the list of Parker's favorite foods that Rebecca had compiled, Sweets had noticed that not a meal on there was healthy. Still, he only bought items from the list; he figured that the kid wouldn't be hurt by a few days of fun. Booth and Brennan always seemed to solve their cases within a matter of days – it wasn't as though that sort of timeframe would affect Parker's diet.<p>

So, with a shopping bag full of Parker's favorite foods in the passenger seat of his car, Sweets pulled up to the school. _Ronald Reagan Elementary & Middle School. _He figured it was new. The name implied fairly recent construction; Reagan was a relatively modern president. As he looked around at the huge windows and asymmetrical structure, his theory was confirmed.

Where was he supposed to go to pick up Booth's son? He saw at least six entrances. _Maybe it's in the instructions, _he thought, pulling out the packet. He skimmed through the sections: food, rules, contact information – school. There it was.

_Parker needs to be picked up before eight, _it read. _Aftercare ends then. Bring your ID – they need to confirm that you're who you say you are. You'll be on the approved list to pick up Parker, it's in the William Clinton wing, there is a label/nameplate over the door. It's the wing where most of the elementary school events go on – but if Seeley isn't back before next Wednesday, you should know that Parker's Christmas concert won't be in there, it'll be in the Gerald Ford wing. _The note had obviously been written in a hurry, but it told him what he needed to know.

There was no need for him to search for the spot; shiny gold letters identified the first entrance he laid his eyes on as the William Clinton Wing. As he approached, he noticed a dark, burly police officer leaning against the door. The cop eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm here to pick up Parker Booth," Sweets informed him.

"Don't recognize you. You're not the Coast Guard guy or the FBI guy – and you're definitely not his momma," he snorted. "Go home, kid."

_Kid? _Come on. He was tall, at least. Why didn't that tip people off? "I'm looking after him while they're on vacation," he explained.

The cop looked him over, then chuckled. "He's about your age, isn't he? You sure he's not looking after you? Ah, whatever. I'll check my list of kids and guardians – see if you're approved." After a quick flip through the papers on his clipboard, he apparently found Parker's name. "You Lance Sweets?"

Sweets nodded, pulling out his driver's license. The cop scrutinized it for a moment, then held open the door for him.

As he entered the school, he immediately saw Parker. He was sitting with perhaps half a dozen other children in an enormous hall; the woman he assumed was the aftercare supervisor faced away from them, reading a book. When he approacher her, she looked up from her novel testily. "What do you want?" she snapped.

He backed up slightly, surprised by her irritation. "I just want to pick up Parker," he explained. "Parker Booth, I mean."

"Why are you letting me know?"

"...I thought... I mean, I assumed you were the aftercare supervisor."

"I am," she confirmed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Don't I have to tell you when I pick him up?"

"I don't care. Tell Barry. He's got the list."

"...Who's Barry? And aren't you paid to care?"

She stood up, glowering at him through the strand of frazzled blonde hair that had fallen in her face. "Don't you dare tell me what I'm paid to do, kid! You don't know my life. You can't judge me!"

"I... I wasn't trying to –"

"Barry's the cop. He's outside. Now take Parsons or whoever and go," she waved him away dismissively.

He opened his mouth to tell her off, but decided it wasn't worth it. He turned away from the woman, heading for Parker.

"Hi," Parker said uncertainly. "Who are you?"

"I'm..." _Doctor Sweets? Lance?_ He hadn't thought about what the kid would call him.

"Do you not know your name?" he wondered.

"No – I mean, yes, I do – I just, um –"

"Can't tell me? Because you're a secret agent?" Parker guessed, grinning. "I bet you're a secret agent from the FBI. And maybe you know my dad, and maybe you can't find him, so you want to give me a top-secret message for him."

"I do work for the FBI, and I do know your dad," Sweets told him, returning the grin. "But I'm not a secret agent – my name's Lance. And I don't have a top-secret message, either."

"Lance," Parker tried out the name. "That's kind of cool. Isn't that like... you know, like one of those swords knights used to use to go _FWAAAAAHHHH_?" As he made the sound effect, he thrusted an imaginary spear.

With a laugh, Sweets nodded.

"I've got a knight sword, you know," he added. "There's a shield that goes with it. I saved up for it with my best friend Jimmy, and I got a red one, and he got a blue one."

"Cool. Do you have battles?"

"Yup," he grinned. Then he paused. "If you don't have a message for my dad, why are you here?"

Hadn't his mother told him? "I'm watching you until your dad gets back from his case."

Parker's face fell. "Case? I thought... I thought Dad was picking me up tonight."

"Well, he's in Florida right now," Sweets explained. "Someone found a bod... I mean, something turned up on one of the rides, and it was a bad thing, so he and a scientist went down to investigate. He should be back soon, but I'll be watching you until then."

"I want my dad," he insisted.

"He's in Florida," Sweets repeated.

"Want Dad."

"In Florida."

"Dad."

"Florida."

"_Dad_."

"Florida."

"_Dad!_"

"I can't – there's nothing I can do," Sweets said helplessly. The other kids were staring at him, probably thinking how it was awfully strange that a grown man was making a seven-year-old so upset that he screamed. The supervisor didn't even look up from her book.

"I don't want to go with you. I want my dad," Parker said sullenly.

"You can come with me or you can stay here all night."

"I'm staying here."

Sweets sighed melodramatically. "Shame. I was going to make macaroni and cheese with so much sauce it was almost soup, then maybe serve some strawberry chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. But now – I don't know if I can eat all that by myself. Maybe I'll just give it to a stray dog or something."

At that, Parker hesitated. "Is there hot fudge with the ice cream?"

Nodding solemnly, Sweets sighed again. "There was going to be. But now – I don't know."

After a moment of consideration, Parker spoke up again. "I _might_ go with you. Maybe. Just for dinner."

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I think there are some really hungry dogs out there that might be a bit more excited about getting that dinner."

"But, but –" Parker looked panicked. "You _can't _give that stuff to dogs instead of me. It's too good. And... Dogs can't even eat chocolate! It's poison for them. Can't I go with you?"

"I'm thinking about it," he said, holding back a smile.

"But I really want to!" he implored, making puppy-dog eyes. "Can I pretty please go with you?"

"Well..."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Sweets, unable to hide his smile any longer, grinned widely. "Sounds good to me. You know," he said, thinking back to the 'favorite activities' section of the packet, "we might even watch some Superman. The new movie. What do you think?"

"Awesome!" Parker jumped out of his seat, grabbing his backpack and dashing towards the door. Turning back to Sweets, he bounced up and down excitedly. "Come on, Lance!" He pushed open the door; Sweets followed.

As Parker sprinted out the door, Barry put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Hey, big man. Who's this with you?" he asked him playfully, tossing his head in Sweets' direction. "He bothering you? I gotta beat him up?"

Parker laughed. "Nu-uh. This is Lance. You don't have to beat him up – he's cool."

"If you're sure," he chuckled. Turning to Sweets, he smiled. "Haven't seen him this excited since the FBI guy picked him up a few months back. What'd you do?"

Parker answered for him. "He's gonna make me mac and cheese soup, and then give me ice cream with hot fudge, and then we're gonna watch Superman."

Barry grinned at Parker. "Sounds like a good time."

With an enthusiastic nod, Parker hugged the cop. "See you tomorrow."

"Sure thing."

Sweets smiled at Barry. "Good night."

"'Night," he responded.

* * *

><p>"More," Parker urged him. "You've gotta put in more."<p>

"Are you sure?" Sweets asked, somewhat skeptical.

He nodded. "Otherwise it's just regular mac and cheese. And only Dad can make regular mac and cheese right. But even Mom can make mac and cheese soup."

Sweets complied, pouring more milk into the pot. He'd taken the easy way out and bought the sort of macaroni that came in a box with a packet of neon orange cheese powder, but, despite his lack of effort, the concoction still smelled good so far.

"There," Parker said, stopping him. "Perfect."

Sweets put down the milk jug and walked over to the sink, where he'd left the strainer full of macaroni. Using a pasta spoon, he emptied it into the cheese liquid he'd made in the pot, then stirred it in. It really did look like soup. Strange yellowy-orange soup, but soup nonetheless.

He started to pour it into a bowl. "Tell me when there's enough for you," he told Parker. The bowl was a quarter full, half full, three quarters full... it was almost completely filled with the soup by the time Parker finally said there was enough.

"Are you going to be able to eat all that?"

"Yeah. Barry calls me big man," he explained, as though it should've been obvious. "And big men get big meals."

Sweets shrugged, pouring the remainder into another bowl. "Okay, but don't blame me if you don't have room for ice cream."

That gave Parker pause. "Well, maybe you can have this one," he offered. "And I'll take the one you just did. It's, like, half of the other one."

"Fine by me," he agreed, picking up the fuller bowl. "You want me to put on Superman now?"

"Sure," he said, grinning.

* * *

><p>"This is where you can sleep," Sweets said, pushing the door open. The room was fairly plain – white carpet, light green walls, a white bed with forest green sheets – but not utterly sterile. There were a few pictures of plants hanging on the walls, easing the monotony somewhat.<p>

Parker didn't seem to care about how it looked. He headed straight for the bed and flopped down on it, then crawled under the covers and hugged his stuffed tiger. Sweets waited a moment, expecting the kid to ask him to tuck him in; when no request came, he crossed the room and stood in the doorway.

"Good night, Parker."

"Good night... wuuaaaahh... Lance," he replied, yawning in the middle of the sentence.

Sweets smiled and turned off the light. This was turning out to be simpler than he'd assumed – Parker didn't even need coaxing to go to bed. Babysitting couldn't possibly be easier.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the long wait. I went on vacation, and, although the brochure claimed there'd be a high-speed internet connection, there wasn't. I was able to write chapters, but not to put them up. <strong>

**& I know this was a really long chapter for such a light fic – it's about three thousand words. The first one was about one thousand. What length do you guys prefer? Would you like me to update frequently with short chapters or a bit less frequently with long chapters?**

**& I'm finally done setting things up now, so the story can be pure fluff from now on. c:**


	3. Getting Arrested Over a Smoothie

_Two. One. Four. Five. Three. _The hour was uncertain, but Sweets was sure it was followed by AM – and that it was a time too early for human beings to wake up at. He glanced at his alarm clock with bleary eyes; it read 3:09. 3:09 sounded like a good time to be sleeping, not a good time to be awoken by a repetitive clanging noise. Or the scream that jarred him into alertness. A kid's scream. _Parker!_

He flung the covers off his bed, stumbled to his door, and threw it open. After a desperate rush to the guest room, he was greeted by an open window and an empty bed. Oh, God. Where was Parker? The window wasn't broken – there were no obvious signs of abduction – but he couldn't deny that the kid was gone, or that a scream had ripped through the house. Oh, God.

What was he going to do? His next-door neighbor was a policeman, and so were his sons; he could run over there and ask them to start looking. The first twenty-four hours were the most important, right? Or maybe he should just call 911 and –

"_Stop it! Stop!_" Parker's voice – it was far-off, but unmistakeable. It sounded like he was in the kitchen, so he was still in the house. But who was he talking to? "_No! Please! Don't do that! AAAAHHHHHH!_"

Sweets sprinted down the stairs. Was he screaming at a kidnapper? Someone trying to hurt him?

He skidded to a stop in the kitchen, spotting Parker crouching behind the counter. The blender was making a terrible noise and producing smoke; pink blobs coated the walls, and, as he watched, more were continually flung from the blender.

He yelped in pain as something hit his cheek, then ducked near Parker. He removed the object; it was a shard of glass. The blender was made of glass, wasn't it?

Parker looked at him, terrified. "Lance," he begged. "Make it stop. It won't stop."

"I – you – this – I – what's going on?" he stumbled through his words.

"I tried to make a smoothie," he said, looking guilty. "I put in the ice cream, and then I turned on the blender, but I forgot the lid, so I got splashed, so I slipped and dropped the spoon in, and then it got spun around and started hitting the blender, and I guess the blender is glass, 'cause it broke, and then the smoothie flew out through the holes, and then the spoon kept spinning and hitting the glass and making bits go flying, and then, and then, and then, and then sometimes it gets stuck and the blender makes a bad noise, and then, and then it moves again and more glass flies out. It hit me," he whimpered, holding out his arm; there were a few pieces in it, and another in his hand.

Sweets took a deep breath. He could scold him later. Right now, it was important that he was okay. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Parker nodded. "But it's not stopping," he mumbled. "And I can't reach it and hit the off button because it keeps throwing glass at me and I don't want it to hurt me."

As a particularly large glob of strawberry ice cream hurtled over their heads and splattered on the walls, Sweets tried to formulate a plan; it didn't take long to concoct. "I'll be right back," he assured Parker, army-crawling out of the room. Once he was out of the kitchen, he righted himself and ran headlong up the stairs into the guest room. A quick dig through the Batman duffel bag yielded the red foam-and-plastic sword and shield set Parker had mentioned; he grabbed the shield and rushed back downstairs.

Parker looked up at him hopefully as he held the shield in front of his face. His pajamas and slippers were thick enough to keep his body and feet safe, and the shield protected the rest of him. Creeping towards the blender, he picked up the metal strainer he'd used for the macaroni and cheese soup earlier; with a heroic lunge, he shoved it on top of the blender. Flecks of ice cream were still flying out, but the glass was stopped by the strainer. In a somewhat anticlimactic finish to his battle with the kitchen appliance, he flicked the power switch into the 'off' position; the terrible sound and the ice cream flinging stopped.

"You did it!" Parker yelled, ecstatic.

Sweets didn't respond – he was too busy gazing at his kitchen in horror. The floor was covered in bits of glass, and, as ice cream was dripping onto it from the walls, a steadily increasing amount of pink liquid. The walls, the cabinets, the fridge, the windows... everything was splattered with strawberry chocolate chip ice cream.

"Lance?" Parker spoke up, sounding a little uncertain.

"What?" Sweets asked, expecting an apology.

"There's ice cream on my shield," he said. "And some glass stuck in the soft part."

A brief examination revealed that it was true; pink flecks and blobs were all over it, and a few shards were embedded in the foam.

"I mean, I'm glad that you stopped the blender and everything," Parker said, "but you kinda messed up my shield."

Sweets stared, incredulous. "You kinda messed up my kitchen," he pointed out.

"It was an accident," he protested.

"I'm sure it was, but that doesn't make everything okay," Sweets said. He couldn't just let the kid do whatever he wanted, could he? "You're going to have to clean this up once I get that glass out of your arm."

Parker's eyes widened. "But there's so much! It'll take, like, forever!"

"It won't be that bad. I'll help you."

"If it's not that bad, why can't you just do all of it?"

He sighed. "Because you can't do things like this without any consequences. Wouldn't your mom make you help clean it up?"

"No," he said, clearly seeing an opportunity. "Actually, when I mess stuff up, she buys me video games. Actually, she just buys me video games all the time. And candy. I bet she'd be mad if you found out you weren't buying me a ton of stuff."

"Nice try," he smiled wryly. "But I've met your mother. Come on – it won't take that long."

"I don't want to."

"Your mother left me in charge, Parker. And I say you have to." Sweets regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Directly asserting authority like that tended to cause resentment.

Parker glowered. "Fine," he muttered. "But I don't like you anymore."

* * *

><p>The cleaning hadn't taken forever, but it had taken about four hours. Unfortunately, that meant that neither of them had been able to go back to sleep; even more unfortunately, Sweets had a full day of work ahead of him.<p>

"So... what are you going to do in school today?" Sweets tried to start a conversation.

Parker glowered at his Lucky Charms, unresponsive.

"Aren't you going to talk to me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I still don't like you." Parker looked up briefly, shooting a baleful glare at Sweets.

That stung. Sweets knew it was just a little kid acting up, but still – he'd done everything he could to make him happy, and all he got in return was sullen loathing. "You wouldn't have had to clean if you hadn't crawled out of bed in the middle of the night, broken the blender, and made a giant mess in my kitchen."

"I don't care about your retarded kitchen."

"You know you can't say that word." Rebecca had mentioned that in the instructions.

"Why not? Everyone else can. And they're all gonna call me that when I fail my spelling test because you made me stay up all night." Oh, no.

"You have a spelling test?"

"Yeah. And I'm gonna fail it," he repeated.

Sweets took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Because then you wouldn't have let me stay up late watching Superman."

He fell silent for a moment. The kid's logic was pretty sound. "School is more important than Superman," he finally said.

"Is not," Parker insisted.

Sweets knew there was no point in replying _is too_, so he tried a different tack. "Even Superman went to school before he started saving people."

"I guess."

"Do you have your spelling words? Maybe I could quiz you on them."

"Nope. They're at school."

"Alright," Sweets said, trying not to let his frustration show. "Then we can drive over there right now and I can quiz you then."

Parker crossed his arms defiantly, careful to keep the bandaged one from banging into the other. "I'm not going to school today."

"You're going to school."

"Am not!" he yelled, kicking his Green Lantern backpack.

"Parker. Get in the car." Sweets wasn't sure he'd ever been this frustrated.

"No. I'm not getting in your retarded car, you retard."

With that, Sweets strode around the table, grabbed Parker, and tossed him over his shoulder. As Parker yelled and hit him, he calmly picked up the backpack and walked towards the door.

The plan was to put Parker in the car, lock it, and then run back in for his briefcase. Unfortunately, Parker's vigorous resistance and repeated cries of 'kidnap! Help, help – kidnap!", when combined with his neighbor's police badge and watchful eye, put a damper on that.

"What are you doing with that boy?" Mr. O'Malley demanded furiously, grey mustache bristling.

"Taking him to school," Sweets responded truthfully.

"Kidnapping me so that he can take me to his secret lair and murder me," Parker corrected, somewhat less truthfully.

O'Malley rounded on Sweets. "I've never seen you with a kid before. Look a bit young for one of your own. How'd you get one?"

"I'm babysitting."

"He stole me from my dad. My dad loves me – he's probably trying to find me right now. He's probably really worried." Parker paused, then started bawling. "Don't let the kidnapper take me. Please, please, Officer. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna diiiiiiieeeeeeeee!"

"You're not going to die," Sweets said impatiently. "We're just going to get you ready for your test."

"Test? What sort of test?" O'Malley inquired.

"It's a spelling test."

"It's an evil psychology test. And he couldn't get anyone to volunteer, 'cause it hurts a lot and makes you go crazy and it's illegal and stuff, so he stole me. And now he's going to do an evil psychology test on me and kill me!" Parker was sobbing, and the words were barely coherent. Dang, the kid could act.

"You are a psychologist, aren't you?" the cop looked at Sweets suspiciously.

"Yes, but – I work for the FBI," he explained hurriedly. "I don't – I wouldn't kidnap a kid and torture him – I mean – really, Officer. I've been your neighbor for almost a year. Don't you know me well en –"

"If you're so good and all, why's the kid got bandages all over his arm?"

"He hurt me," Parker sniffled. "I said that I wanted to go home, I didn't want to do the test, and, and... he hurt me so bad!"

"Actually," Sweets cut in nervously, "he made a smoothie with a spoon that, ah, made the blender explode, and it attacked him – I mean, glass flew at him, and, ah – well, then I came down, and I used this shield to protect myself, and I charged at it and turned it off. I _saved _him."

"So the kid's story is that you hurt him to make him do what you wanted, and your story is that the kid made a smoothie but unfortunately used a magical exploding spoon that made the blender attack him, and then you used a conveniently available shield to vanquish the evil blender monster."

Sweets paled. "His story is that I'm evil and want to do some sort of twisted psychological experiment on him, and my story is that I'm babysitting and want to take him to school."

"He's lying," Parker sobbed miserably. "He's lying. Please, please don't let him take me. Please. I want to see my daddy again. I don't want to go crazy."

O'Malley glowered at Sweets. "I'll take you down to the station. See if your story checks out."

"But –"

"No buts!" he roared.

Sweets walked numbly to O'Malley's car. His first full day with Parker and he was already getting arrested. How was Booth going to react when he heard about this?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry; I know it's been a while. I've been busy planning for my party (I'm turning sixteen today~ c:).<strong>

**Anyway, thanks so much to my reviewers! You're very nice; I love getting reviews, so thank you. ^^ **


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